To Kill a Hummingbird

by J. R. Ripley

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got it in my car.” Reynolds made a beeline to his vehicle and returned with his fancy camera.

  Chief Kennedy’s eyes played over the crowd. “Who was the last person to see Mister Duvall? Anybody have any idea?”

  Two hands pointed in my direction—it was the young couple selling organic produce—and that’s when Jerry spotted me standing near the support pole of the tent opposite. I reddened and slowly raised my hand. “I guess that would be me.” I stepped forward through the throng.

  “Lord have mercy,” Jerry said, shaking his head forlornly. “What did I do to deserve this?” He slowly raised his arm and, using his forefinger, motioned for me to come closer.

  “Good morning, Chief.” I rarely called him chief but figured today was worth an exception.

  “You were the last one to speak to Duvall?”

  “I found him.” I pointed to the puddle on the ground. “Lying there. I never spoke to him. He was like that when I came in.”

  “And just what were you doing here this early in the morning?”

  “I came to see Frank.”

  “Do you mind telling me why?”

  “We had a little disagreement last night. I came to clear the air.”

  Jerry looked at the captivated crowd, then locked his steely eyes on me. “And you didn’t speak with him at all?”

  “I told you. I never got the chance.”

  Jerry tipped back his cap with his forefinger. “Yeah.” He turned to the onlookers. “Okay, folks, nothing more to see here. I suggest you all go about your business.”

  “What about me?” I made the mistake of asking.

  “If I have any questions, I’ll call you.”

  I nodded.

  He pointed to the road. “Now go.”

  I went.

  22

  “Morning, Amy.” Kim looked up lazily from a glossy women’s magazine she had been leafing through at the sales counter. Apparently business was off to a slow start.

  “Hi. Sorry I’m late. I meant to be back in time to open up.”

  “No problem. Barbara called and asked me to do it when you didn’t show.” Her face showed concern. “She told me what happened with Frank Duvall last night and how you left a note saying you were going down to the market to talk to him about it.”

  “That was the plan.” I turned and gazed out the window to the spot where Frank had accosted me just last night. I had told him to never do it again, and now he never would.

  “Though if I were you,” Kim snapped the gum in her mouth, “I’d have sent the cops to do my talking. How did it go?”

  “It didn’t.”

  Kim perked up. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean that when I got there, Frank was lying on the ground.”

  Kim set her magazine aside and came around from behind the counter. “What do you mean, lying on the ground?”

  “I mean like lying stretched out on the ground not moving, not talking, and looking like he was on the threshold of death’s door.” I blinked at her. “For a minute, I thought he was dead.”

  Kim gasped. “Is it serious? What was it? A heart attack? Stroke?”

  “Funny, Dan asked the very same thing.”

  “Dan was there?”

  I nodded. “I don’t know what happened to Frank. I’d say it’s very serious. Someone in the crowd suggested it might have been food poisoning.”

  “I had that once,” remarked Kim. “I felt like I wanted to die.”

  I remembered nursing her through it. She hadn’t been a pretty sight. “Mom did say once that he had heart problems, so that could be it.” But I couldn’t stop thinking about the fallen thermos and mentioned it to Kim.

  “What are you suggesting, bad coffee? Spoiled cream?”

  “Sounds farfetched, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “They took Frank to the hospital,” I explained. “I need coffee.” Kim followed me to the back where I poured us each a fresh cup of strong black coffee. I had a sudden aversion to milk.

  Kim took a seat in one of the rockers, and I copied her move.

  “I can’t help thinking this has something to do with Mason’s murder.” I rocked slowly, careful not to spill.

  “Don’t you think you’re getting carried away now? Frank could have had a heart attack or be having trouble with his blood pressure.” She wiped a lipstick smear from the side of her mug. “Or food poisoning like somebody suggested.”

  “You could be right, I suppose.” Duvall certainly seemed to be under a lot of stress of late. “But I don’t think heart attack victims vomit all over themselves.”

  Kim made a face of disgust. “That leads us back to food poisoning.”

  I reluctantly agreed. “It just seems like too much a coincidence. Mason gets killed, he had a relationship with Frank, though I have no idea how deep it ran. Mason, Frank, Violet, and Cara all seem to be tangled up in something.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “Now Frank is in the hospital himself.”

  I shot Kim a sideways glance. “What does it all mean?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” replied Kim.

  “I guess Frank will tell us what happened when he recovers.”

  “Maybe we should go see him? When are visiting hours?”

  “I don’t even know if he’s conscious yet, but that’s not a bad idea. Assuming seeing me doesn’t upset him. I’ve already got Jerry upset with me. That’s enough for one day.”

  “Why you?”

  “I’m the one who found Frank,” I replied stonily.

  “Again?”

  I glared at her.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just meant that you have bad luck that way.”

  “Frank and I had our differences, but I hope he gets better soon.” I yawned, still feeling the effects of my lack of rest. “In the meantime, we’ll see what the doctors find out.”

  “I have a friend who’s a nurse. I’ll send her a text and see if she knows anything.”

  “Thanks.” I changed the subject. “Is Mom around?” I could see by the gaps in the counter display that at least a half a dozen of her homemade Barbara’s Bird Bars had been purchased.

  “She took the bus downtown to do a little shopping.” Kim sipped, her eyes on the front door. “Speaking of police….” She played with the sapphire ring on her left finger. “Let me ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you think of Dan?”

  “Dan Sutton?” Kim nodded, and I continued, knowing I had to tread lightly. “He seems like a good guy. Why do you ask? How do you feel about him?”

  “That’s just it,” Kim said, clearly bothered. “I’m not sure how I feel about the man.”

  I rose and topped off our coffees. “There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s only natural. You two haven’t known each other, at least on a personal level, for a very long time.”

  Kim set her mug on the floor and leaned closer. “Why did he invite me to Jerry and Sandra’s wedding then?”

  “Dan invited you to the Kennedys’ vow renewal?” That was news of sorts.

  Kim bobbed her head up and down. “What should I do? What should I say?” She clasped her hands tightly together. “The ceremony is months away—what should I tell him? I don’t know if I can make that kind of a commitment!”

  I chuckled. “Slow down, Kim. Dan’s not asking you to marry him. He’s merely asking you to be his date at his boss’s ceremony.” I made an effort to show more interest. “Has he ever been married?”

  “No. He’s had some fairly serious relationships, but he’s never taken the plunge.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why do people say that? It sounds like you’re jumping off a cliff.”

  Kim snickered. “I’ll bet some people feel exactly like that.”

  “I hope I don’t feel that way if and when the time comes. What about family?”

  “What about them?”

  “Have you met Dan’
s parents? As I recall, they live in town.”

  “They do, and no, I haven’t.”

  “And he hasn’t met your mother?”

  “You know she’s still in Florida.”

  “If you ask me, and you did,” I quipped, “I’d say the two of you are still getting comfortable with one another.” I patted her leg. “Relax. Go with the flow.”

  Kim snorted. “Is that what you and Derek are doing? Going with the flow?” Before I could reply, she asked, “By the way, what did he say when you told him what his ex-wife said? You did tell him, didn’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did mention it to him. Not that I needed to.”

  “Huh?”

  “He said that she had already told him herself and that it was all a big joke.”

  “Not a very funny one.” Kim scratched her ankle.

  “I agree.”

  “That woman is evil with a capital E.”

  I agreed with that, too, and said so. “Are we good here? I want to go out and check on the hummingbird feeders.”

  “Fine,” Kim relented. “I guess it’s hummingbirds before girlfriends.”

  “You know you’ll always be number one in my book.” I winked at her. “At least one notch above hummingbirds. Blue jays on the other hand . . .” I tipped my open hands like a pair of scales.

  “Very funny. You know, nothing you said explains why Dan asked me to the wedding or helps me to know what sort of answer to give him.”

  “Because he doesn’t want to go stag?” I cocked my eyebrow. “As for your answer, just say yes. And have a good time and save me a piece of cake.”

  Kim frowned at me. “You’re no help at all.”

  “Sorry,” I replied automatically. “I guess I have other, more important, things on my mind.” I rose at the sound of the front door opening. “Have you heard a word I’ve said about Frank Duvall being in serious condition and having to be raced to the hospital?”

  Kim picked up her mug and hurried to catch up with me. “Every word, and I hope he’s okay. Shall we take him some flowers?”

  “Do you really think a flower farmer needs more flowers?”

  Kim followed me step for step. “Chocolates, maybe?”

  “Like chocolate-covered cherries?”

  “That sounds nice.” Kim stopped, suddenly remembering the box of spiked chocolates that Mason had ingested. “Oh.”

  “Oh is right.”

  After taking care of our customers, we stepped out front, and I checked the level of each hummingbird feeder. “I’d say they’re good for another day.” I’d rinse them and refill the sugar water tomorrow. A ruby-throated hummingbird buzzed past the side of my head, and I turned toward the sound. A flashy, late-model red convertible sped past the store heading up Lake Shore Drive. “Wasn’t that Cara Siskin and Violet Wilcox?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Kim. “I wasn’t looking. Why?”

  “I saw the two of them drinking at the biergarten last night. It was right around the time that Frank jumped me from those shrubs.” I pointed to the spot where we’d tussled. I made a mental note to ask Cousin Riley to trim them down to waist height, thus preventing any further ambushes.

  I untied my apron and handed it to Kim. “Do you mind watching the store?”

  Kim grinned. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” I said, returning the smile. She followed me inside while I retrieved my keys and purse. “What time does Esther get in?”

  “She’s playing bingo at Rolling Acres. She said she’d be in around one or two.”

  “Esther’s playing bingo at the senior center?”

  Kim shrugged. “So she says.”

  “I wonder if she’s thinking about moving.” No more secret cats, no more forbidden cigarettes. No more walking around the store during business hours in a ratty bathrobe and slippers.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but I wouldn’t go getting your hopes up.”

  “You’re probably right, but a girl can dream, can’t she?”

  I warned Kim to lock the back door after me and climbed in the Kia. Mason had told me that Cara Siskin was staying at a motel. In a town the size of ours, that had to mean the Ruby Lake Motor Inn. There were few other options, and the motor inn was the biggest and closest to the campground.

  The Ruby Lake Motor Inn was only a mile or so away, and as I swung into the parking lot on the street side, I saw the AM Ruby van pulling away.

  The L-shaped inn had been built in the fifties with rooms running the longer length and the office and a small diner occupying the shorter line of the L. Several rustic cabins with stone fireplaces and kitchenettes had been constructed behind the motel. The giant ruby-red neon sign on thirty-foot-tall steel posts in the parking lot proclaimed that there were no vacancies.

  Standing beside the red convertible, the publicist swiveled her eyes at me as I inched into a tight space between a behemoth of a 4x4 and a station wagon.

  I climbed out of my minivan, and she turned on her heel and headed for her room. I ran and caught up with her as she slid the keycard into the lock on her door.

  “Wasn’t that Violet Wilcox from the radio station I saw leaving?”

  “So what if it was?” Cara Siskin pushed into her room.

  I followed her unbidden. “Wow, it’s freezing in here.” I rubbed my arms for warmth.

  “Then leave.” She wiped her damp brow. “It’s plenty hot outside.”

  I noticed a nearly packed suitcase open on the nearer of the two beds in the small room. “Is that what you’re doing, leaving?”

  She turned on me and ripped off her glasses. “Is that any of your business at all?” The room smelled of the same cologne I’d caught a whiff of in Mason’s camper.

  I chose to ignore the question, considering the answer was no. “Have you heard? Frank Duvall is in the hospital.”

  She grinned smugly. “As a matter of fact, I did. Ms. Wilcox and I just came from the hospital.”

  That took me by surprise. “How is Frank? Did you speak with him?”

  “No.” She flopped down beside her suitcase on the bed and toyed with her clothing. “We were told he isn’t conscious yet.”

  “Why did you want to see him? Does it have anything to do with the business he had with Mason?” I moved toward the bathroom, looking for what, I didn’t know—anything amiss, anything that might clue me in to the professor’s killer.

  “And what business would that be?” She eyed me warily.

  “I know Frank wanted Mason to partner up with him in promoting a cultivar of some flower he was working on.”

  Cara crossed her legs and propped herself up with her hands against the mattress. “Mason mentioned something like that. I admit, I was curious about it. I thought if there was anything I could do in memory of dear Mason . . .” She let her voice trail off.

  I’d seen better acting in elementary school plays. “And Violet Wilcox? I saw you with her at Brewer’s last night. Did you know Frank accosted me outside Birds and Bees around that same time?”

  “I had no idea. Why would he do that?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Ask him yourself,” she quipped, “when he recovers.”

  “I plan to do just that. When I spoke with him last night, he was too drunk to be coherent. Had he been drinking with you and Ms. Wilcox?”

  “No. I never saw him at all last night.”

  “It seems odd to me that you and Violet Wilcox would keep getting seen together.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Only that I heard you were together at Truckee’s Bar and again last night. And today.”

  “She’s new to town, and I’m a stranger in town. We had drinks. It’s better than drinking alone.”

  “Was Wilcox interested in the flower or Mason?”

  “Both, I suppose. She’s interested in anything newsworthy. The woman’s always looking for stories to build up her listenership. I believe the station isn’t quite prof
itable yet.” The telephone on the bedside table rang, and Cara chose to ignore it.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  She looked at the phone. “It’s probably the front desk. I asked them for more towels. Speaking of which,” she rose, “I was about to shower.”

  I nodded and walked slowly to the door. “Will you be leaving soon?”

  “As soon as my business is complete.”

  “Mason’s dead. The book tour is over. Isn’t your publisher expecting you back in the office?”

  “Of course.” The publicist eyed me provocatively and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I’m hoping to attend Mason’s funeral first.”

  “Do you think Frank Duvall murdered Mason?”

  “What possible reason could he have? Besides, you said it yourself, he needed Mason alive. Do you really think I’d be visiting Mister Duvall in the hospital if he had?” came her frosty retort.

  The truth was, I had no idea. And with everybody going around saying how much they needed Mason alive, why was he dead?

  “Any more questions?” As her hands tugged at her skirt, I ran for the door. The woman freaked me out. I heard her laughter follow me out the door.

  23

  The following morning I woke to the sound of banging on my door. I threw on a robe and answered. Mom’s bedroom door was closed. “Who’s there?” I called through the apartment door as I cinched my robe tight around my waist.

  “It’s me, Paul.”

  I pulled open the door and yawned. “What are you doing here?” One of the many problems with having live-in tenants was their ability to bang on your door at all hours of the day and night.

  “Esther told me you wanted to ask me something.”

  I yawned and brought my fist to my mouth. “Excuse me. I need coffee.” I motioned for him to step inside. “I did mention to Esther last night that I wanted to ask you about Cara Siskin and Violet Wilcox.”

  “I know who Violet is.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I quipped, remembering how he’d been drooling over the station reporter the night of our monthly Birds and Brews meeting.

  “But who’s Cara Siskin?”

  “You saw her. She was with Mason the night he spoke to our group.”